


i forget how warm it can be

by PoemIsDead



Series: warmth [1]
Category: Markiplier (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Christmas Lights, Cussing, Fluff, M/M, date thing idk, i said it was in character, mild implied manipulation, not really christmas themed but still, or trying to be, this is hard to tag, trying to be in character fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-25 00:54:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16651189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoemIsDead/pseuds/PoemIsDead
Summary: Dark isn't bothered by the cold. But he doesn't mind taking Mark's warmth either.





	i forget how warm it can be

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bi_Duckling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bi_Duckling/gifts).



> So a friend had the idea for some Mark/Dark fluff, and I wanted to try to see if I could do it whilst also keeping Dark in character. Which is . . . not-so-surprisingly hard. But hell, I had fun writing it, so here it is, I guess XD

It was snowing. The air was bitterly cold as fat flakes danced through the sky around them, the temperature drop jarring and sudden after weeks of temperate weather. Everyone on the streets around them was bundled up to the nose, hats and scarves and several layers of jackets to protect them from the biting air as they milled about on their bright Friday evening. Business lights were lit up bright on every corner, inviting passersby to come cozy up in their warm establishments, and leave the freezing darkness behind them.

Dark had never been bothered by the cold. The sharp bite across his skin felt like a familiar caress, invigorating, and as welcoming as it should be for a creature like him. He'd walk the snowy night in a t-shirt if that was at _all_ appropriate or tasteful.

Therefore, the feeling of the cozy, clinging warmth of the scarf around his neck felt like some alien thing trying to strangle him, rather than what he could only expect was a comforting presence to most people. He'd sooner rip it off, along with the drapey fabric of the classy cardigan fluttering between the seams of his jacket, if Mark hadn't looked so goddamn gleeful putting it on him.

The fool seemed to take some personal affront to Dark's dressing choices. Which was laughable, coming from the man who spent half of his time in gaming tees and sweatpants, and the other half trying to find the most comfortable way to look like a casual fashion model. The idea that Dark's crisp, refined look was somehow inferior or _uncomfortable_ was amusing, bordering on offensive.

But Mark had _refused_ to leave the house with Dark in his crisp cut jacket and pressed pants. Apparently, looking like he was about to step into a court case, or like something "out of a bad yakuza movie" was intolerable for a date out on the town, and he'd hounded Dark mercilessly until the older man had simply rolled his eyes and let Mark do what he wanted.

That tended to be what a lot of their time consisted of lately, Dark had realized as he waited patiently while Mark threw the entire contents of his closet at him in an enthusiastic mess. Mark in his . . . oddly tolerable giddy impulsiveness throwing himself into whatever it was he'd decided to be excited about just then, and Dark in a mute kind of passing amusement.

It's what had led them to where they were now, meandering endlessly through some unknown town that Dark didn't care to remember the name of, in search of some elusive "Japanese light show" that no one seemed to really know anything about, and watching the snow start to scatter in thin white sheets across the sidewalks. People milled around them in little pairs and groups, faces tucked down low into scarfs, or hovering over the steam of a late night coffee as they enjoyed each other's company, or the twinkle of the decorative lights that adorned the businesses, light posts, and various trees along the path.

Too bright for Dark's taste. But there was still a kind of . . . prettiness to it, he supposed. In a simple, almost capitalistic way, like some corporate group had gotten together to try to find the most media-friendly representation of the season, and this is what they had come up with.

Snow curled in little tendrils through the air, catching on bits of wind from passing legs and swinging bags, twisting like odd forms of magic through the night as most of the available eyes were fixated on the fat falling flakes instead. There was music playing from somewhere, or maybe multiple somewheres, mixing together to create a faint ambiance that didn't have a well-defined tune. And weaving through all of this was Mark, eager and bright-eyed, as he led them on an ever-ambiguous journey towards some nebulous goal that might not even exist.

It was a wonder Dark ever let him lead them anywhere. He had an incredible knack for ending them up in some hitherto unknown shop or alleyway, or getting swept up in some kind of event or street fun that Dark wanted nothing to do with.

And yet, when Mark reached out to snatch up his hand, leading him through a particularly dense group of people that seemed to have decided that this section of the public street was their personal hang-out, Dark did not pull his hand away.

It was harmless, after all. Letting Mark drag him around. He had his carefully crafted expression of boredom and limited tolerance on his face, and to anyone else, he would look for all the world like a man putting up with the errant wants of a child.

It wasn't as if he enjoyed the warmth seeping slowly through his leather gloves to the cool skin beneath. He was a creature of the cold and dark, after all, that would just be silly. He was simply tolerating this . . . amusing little creature.

The jarring bump of a hard shoulder slamming into his own jerked Dark out of his languid thoughts with a snarl, the sound jumping to his lips without his command. He could feel the tension rip through his body immediately, the anger that one of these fools had not only deigned to block the path, but now thought to _shove_ him, when they were lucky he hadn't broken bones to part them like the red sea. He was already whirling on the man, the stranger realizing almost immediately that he'd made a mistake as Dark felt the bitter wind whip around him, his cold dead eyes promising nothing but regret as he took one fury-riddled step towards him-

Only to feel the gentle tug of Mark's hand on his own, pulling him steadily away from the group with a happy little, "Come on, I think I think it's this way!"

Dark hesitated, eyes still fixed on the offending creature as he glowered at him, not wanting to leave this affront unaddressed. But the man was already stepping back, muttering apologies as he slipped deeper into his own group, and Mark's steady, gentle pulling was slowly prying him from the need for his own sour justice.

By the time Mark had dragged him to the end of the block, the little flash of fury had abated, leaving the slow swirl of emotion boiling deep in his gut, under layers of boredom and control, where it belonged. His face had slipped back into that careful tolerance once more, offering Mark little more than a raised eyebrow when he stopped to glance back at him.

"Well, that was rude," Mark said with a little pout, and Dark watched with carefully crafted indifference as the man reached out to tug at the warm fabric slung haphazardly around Dark's throat. "They fucked up your scarf."

It was a testament to how . . . accustomed Dark had become with the man that he didn't catch his wrist as he started readjusting the fabric with a little huff of indignation. As if Dark was a child that needed help with such simple tasks rather than simply not caring about something as silly as a scarf when the cold didn't bother him. But there was something . . . endearing about the look of concentration Mark wore, the little crease between his brows as he fidgeted with the scarf, the way his bottom lip jutted out more and more as he tugged fabric up around Dark's jaw in a way that must have been pleasing in some manner.

"The whole damn street open, and they're just like, 'nah, let's stand right in the middle of _everything_. I love having complete strangers squeeze through the middle of my group when I'm trying to talk.'"

Dark said nothing, just watched the way Mark's lips curved up on the edge of some words, down on others. Like he couldn't decide if he wanted to scowl or smile.

"Maybe some bikers will come through and run them over," Mark said with a little grin, and Dark let the edge of his mouth quirk up in the slightest hint of a smile.

"Unlikely," he rumbled, the smile more evident in his voice than he would have liked. But that wasn't so much a problem with Mark when the man's grin was spreading to be more than enough for both of them.

"But fucking funny to think about," Mark snickered, and Dark let the smile slip a little further over his face, watching it echo across Mark's face in turn.

Mark had pulled them aside under the awning of some quiet shop as he fiddled with his scarf, the people passing beyond them unnoticed as the man seemed to finally find some satisfaction in getting the fabric back to where he wanted it. It was quieter here, but not by much, like some thin layer of padding between them and the rest of the bustling street. Cheap Christmas lights hung from the awning, clacking against each other in the bitter breeze, and offering little more than the hazy light from inside the store could give.

Even in the dark, Mark looked warm. He was tucked into a whole pile of layers, shirt and sweater and cardigan and jacket, thick scarf tucked under his chin so he could talk, but ready to be pulled up over his lips the moment the cold got to be too much. But even beyond that, he just looked warm. Honeyed skin and deep chocolate eyes, bright expression that was less about light and more about heat, like he was fueled by some furnace thrumming deep inside him than by the simple crackle of energy everyone else seemed to survive on.

Mark wasn't about color, but _depth_. Dark had lived in cold monochrome for long enough that the bright, peacock-like colors of some set his teeth on edge. But Mark was rich, saturated, his colors deep and thick instead of bright and loud, and Dark found it . . . soothing. As much as he could be soothed.

It was the eyes, more than anything, he thought. Mark wasn't a particularly extroverted person, preferring to be among people rather than interacting with them. But when he did give you his attention, it was with a force, gaze completely unflinching. Where others avoided eye contact, Mark gave you his full attention, looking at you with a steady, open gaze that was so rich as to be earnest.

He'd turned those deep brown pools up to Dark's face now, watching him with that open honesty that had drawn Dark in in the first place - such openness was dangerous and naive, and oh, so easy to take advantage of - and Dark watched in his own kind of quiet wonder as they darkened, pupils expanding slowly as Mark reached up to brush a strand of hair from over Dark's eye.

He did catch his wrist this time, black gloves blocking the warm color of the little strip of skin peeking out from under his sleeve, and Mark's face fell, a mixture of confusion and loss seeping through his expression. Dark smiled, deep and genuine now, eyes darkening to a dangerous black as he brought Mark's hand higher. So _easy_ to read. Emotions written across his face, his shoulders, the twitch of his fingers, even as he hid them from others. And he reveled in the way Mark watched him with that lost kind of sincerity, before offering him relief.

Dark brought the man's hand up to his mouth, turning it in his grip to bare the smallest strip of his soft wrist to the rasp of lips as he pressed a small, coiling kiss to his skin.

The change was immediate. The blush worked rich across Mark's face, heat creeping up beneath his scarf as the breathless sound slipped past his lips. And then he grinned at him, so _painfully_ warm, that Dark felt like he'd be burned if he didn't handle it properly.

"Stop that," Mark snipped, but the words lost all weight with the stupid smile he still wore as he tugged his hand back, not putting enough real effort behind it to actually pull him from Dark's grip. "Don't distract me. We're supposed to be finding shit."

"Are we?" Dark growled, the sound reverberating low in his chest as he pulled his hand back to him, twisting it to nip at his wrist instead, only to laugh, low, as Mark thumped him on the chest with an open palm.

" _Yes_ ," he hissed, not trying to get his hand back this time, and instead just glaring with a poorly repressed smile. "Now come _on_ , I don't want to miss it."

Dark rolled his eyes, noting the little twitch in Mark's lips as he did so, like every time he managed to exasperate Dark was some kind of reward.

"Fine," he allowed with some kind of impossible, infinite patience. He wasn't sure this little light show Mark was after existed at all at this point. But it wasn't as if walking around with Mark while he figured that out was such a trial.

It wasn't as if he had anything he'd prefer to be doing.

Mark grinned at him then, shoving at his chest before turning back towards the sidewalk, twisting his grip to grab Dark's hand properly.

And if Dark let him thread his fingers through his own this time, he didn't say anything about it.

It was warmer this way. And Dark had never minded the cold, the bite of the wind or the wet flakes in his hair. But he'd also always been a selfish man. And when Mark offered so much warmth with such an open naivety, it was hard for Dark not to take everything he had to give.

Even in the form of warm hands and rich eyes and a smile that soothed the low roil of emotions in his soul.


End file.
